


Introspection

by Uturuncu



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Nobody(Kingdom Hearts), POV Third Person Objective, the world that never was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 02:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12223902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uturuncu/pseuds/Uturuncu
Summary: Standing upon the Altar of Naught it was easy to view the man stood upon it but harder to truly understand what, precisely, he was.





	Introspection

**Author's Note:**

> In this thread, Utu posts ten year old shit because he just realized he hadn't.

                Atop the highest tower of the massive, pristine, impossible castle, there stood a single figure. He was so small in comparison, he surely seemed insignificant, impossible to see even with the blackness of his cloak casting sharp contrast against the white of the building. And yet that seeming insignificance was far from the truth of the figure to any who saw him close in person.  
  
                He stood, in a silent realm where nothing living thrived, where even the smallest, hardiest of plants struggled to grow even under the care of a master botanist. A realm where even the ones who walked, spoke, acted, and looked like men were nothing of the sort. Even the very world did not exist, a parody of all which did, the floating castle hanging above a bowl-shaped pit seeming bottomless. The entire rest of the world was a massive sprawling city, empty of all truth, infested with small, black, twisting, twitching creatures. If a living creature managed to find the world, these little beasts would snuff out the ‘abomination’ upon the face of its nonexistence.  
  
                And yet this seemingly insignificant man kept these creatures at his beck and call. Others, stronger, larger, in shades of white and grey bowed to his will as well. Even those like he, who appeared as men, dressed in the same black acted as the other two types of inhabitant upon the world did. This despite the fact that they had the sentience, the ability to think for themselves, and disagree. They did not.  
  
                But why? So alone atop that spire, nearly every waking moment spent alone with no company save the heart-shaped moon that ever-graced eternal night. What power could such a lonely figure hold, as he stood, silver hair catching the light and sending a glow about it, as if a halo upon a divine figure. Considering this world was his creation, that the very moon he stood beneath only hung in the sky due to his efforts, the comparison was almost fitting.  
  
                In his presence, however, that comparison would ring jarringly wrong. Just his mere proximity spoke of darkness, of ruthlessness, of an ability and inclination to do whatever it would take to reach his goal, no matter what, be it murder, torture, or even the sacrifice of those most loyal to him. And through all of this not a single emotion seemed to cross darkly tanned features. An aura of sheer power wreathed one who, to look at, seemed he would never use it because he would never have need to use it.  
  
                The silence that held his realm was easily broken as he spoke, his voice deep and rich, commanding the attention of those around him with both an eloquence and expression that managed to take his entire form. But he never truly showed any part of proper emotion. And when he spoke all did listen, and obey, no matter the cost. His subordinates were ready to walk head-on into a battle they knew they could not win and die willingly for the one they served.  
  
                Pure power was radiated in even the littlest thing done, the tiniest motion amplified by simple virtue of himself, nothing more required than that for it to be. The simplest of movements, brushing a hair behind his ear, a turn of his head, could make any who knew him cower. It would take little more for one observant and intelligent to do the same and instantly cow themselves to his power before it was wrought against them.  
  
                And through it all, that emotionless visage would stay that way, not once belying anything save a sheer inability to feel. There would be a raise of a brow here, a widening of an eye there, a small spread of the hands, or a turn of the body, all designed to add more to that charismatic eloquence. Even his lips would turn, both up and down, as he spoke, and still it was little more than parody. The truth of the matter was plain to see. Were he to try he could likely fool anyone, but the simple everyday speech left an eerie feeling of the familiarity of emotion that was not there.  
  
                Despite features gentle, smooth, and rounded, features that further added to a first impression of weakness, there was an impossible harshness behind him. Disobedience was intolerable, as was deviation from his goals, and his strength had this well-set in the minds of his subordinates to the point that their loyalty was virtually unmatched, some more than others, by any other party.  
  
                When one found himself facing down the man in combat. That grace came to full power, sweeping motions bringing a trailing flow of black leather behind him, the soft sweep of the material playing in time with the soft chime of the chains across the cloak itself. Silvery hair flowed with ease, body twisting, rotating, strikes of weapons coming interspersed with powerful kicks.  
  
                And only when it came time for that final blow to strike, did something change about the figure wreathed in dark skin and darker leather. Emotionless broke for a true expression, finally, lips splitting into a wide smirk, soft features twisting into the insanity ever-present. Its signs were ever-resisted, kept under wraps by a boundless self control. Fierce, vibrant rust colored eyes turned the red of blood, reflecting the glow of his weapon, right before the reason for that sadistic madness came to pass. One final strike, the burn of pure, concentrated nothingness, negating the existence of anything it touched. A brutal, agonizing death only served him to smirk all the wider.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ancient piece of writing, from 2007. It was written for a character study challenge back on Y!Gal. It's been crossposted there under The Witty Phantom, and on my DeviantArt of Radditz329. Both are defunct and unused, but this is to note it's not stolen.


End file.
